


Whispers

by Golden_Asp



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dark side of devotion, Descent into Madness, Horror, Ignis goes mad, Ignis has Issues, M/M, One sided relationship, Possible dubious consent?, Post Game, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, cloning, kind of, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 16:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11947704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Asp/pseuds/Golden_Asp
Summary: The whispers started when he found the cloning pod, drifting tantalizingly through his mind, telling him one thing.He could have Noctis back.





	Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to Dark_Ruby_Regalia who said the magic words 'Ignis clones Noctis' and then sat back and watched (possibly in horror) as my mind took the idea and twisted into a horror show. So, take another trip into the dark recesses of my mind.
> 
> Uh...happy birthday, Noctis? I'm so sorry.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

The whispers started when he found the cloning pod on a trip to the facility that Prompto had been held at. He hadn’t gone alone, of course, but had joined Cor Leonis and others in a hunt for intelligence.

He hadn’t realized what it was. It was smooth and round and large beneath his fingers. It intrigued him.

Then Prompto told him what it was, and the world stopped turning.

He could have Noctis back.

He quickly turned away from it. No one else could ever know that horrible thought that had seized him. The way it wormed into his very soul, to the hidden recesses of his mind, those thoughts and dreams that had died with his king.

That was when the whispers started. A whisper in his mind, twisting around him, telling him to bring Noctis back.

It was easier than he thought to get one of the pods to a hidden location in the city. Most of the things they were bringing back were going on the airship, but once they landed back in Lucis they were splitting the research between the crown city and Lestallum. Ignis rode back with the hunter who was driving the truck with the extra pod and the audio logs that Verstael had left behind.

It was almost like the planets aligning. How much hubris Verstael must have had to leave audio logs behind of his cloning attempts.

The hunter—Ignis didn’t know his name and didn’t care—drove them back to the city. It was easy enough for Ignis to give him an address, and the hunter took him, and the truck, to the hidden warehouse.

The hunter helped him unload it after Ignis told him that Leonis was sending a different truck.

The hunter was confused, but he listened to what Ignis said. It was easy enough to dispose of him. A quick garrote around the neck, and his body in the back of the truck.

Make sure the truck was empty, make sure everything was set, and torch it, the flames licking at his face.

Ignis had his cloning pod, and the whisper of an idea telling him to continue.

He could bring Noctis back. He could be relevant again.

A whisper through his mind, telling him what to do.

It took him years to figure it out. It was harder than anticipated. He couldn’t see what he was doing. He had to learn everything by feel.

He cursed his blindness. It would be so much easier if he could actually see.

Verstael’s voice became his only companion. He disappeared, and he didn’t know that Gladio had led a search, desperate to find his oldest friend. He didn’t know there were posters of his face around Lucis, begging for any information on him.

Secreted away in his makeshift lab, he worked. He learned everything he could. He lost weight, and talked to Noctis every day.

“You’ll be back soon, my king. Everyone will be so delighted to see you again but you’ll be mine. We’ll finally get to be together again, my love.”

Sometimes, he answered himself as he talked. He talked to Verstael’s voice.

Finally, finally, it was time to truly start.

The whispers were a scream.

He’d had a vial of his majesty’s hair, a drop of blood, flakes of skin, taken from his corpse.

He carefully inserted the DNA into the pod, and waited. 

He knew the pod took time to grow a human. He waited, and waited, and waited, talking incessantly to the growing thing in the pod.

He knew how to do the flash education, making sure that when the man was released from the pod, he’d be able to walk and talk.

He knew that the man wouldn’t have Noctis’ memories, and a tiny part of him whispered that this was wrong, that Noctis was dead and he should leave him there.

But he couldn’t. He would never be able to give Noctis up. He needed Noctis like he needed air. Without him, his life meant nothing. He was nothing.

Years. Years of being alone. He didn’t know the others still looked. He had plenty of food and water down here, in his private little lab.

He’d lean against the pod, talking to it. He’d tell Noct of their life together. They could be together.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. Time had no meaning to him. He only knew it was taking an eternity, and his tenuous grip on reality slipped every day.

The voices grew louder.

Finally it was time. He cracked the pod, draining it of its life giving fluids.

His hand touched a wet, naked shoulder, and he shook as he removed the feeding tube and the wires from the man. He lowered the man to the floor.

“Noctis?” he asked, hopeful and scared.

The man moaned, and oh, the sound of his voice was like water to man lost in the desert.

“Wha’ going on?” the voice said, and Ignis nearly wept.

It was him. It sounded just like him. 

Ignis ran his fingers over the man before him, tracing long forgotten planes of the man’s face, chest, thighs, cock. He couldn’t see him, but he felt like Noctis.

“You’re name is Noctis, and you’re home,” Ignis whispered.

“Noctis?” the man asked.

“Noctis, my Noctis,” Ignis wept, holding him. He wasn’t alone anymore. 

The whispers sang joyously in his mind.

Noctis had no idea where he was or who this man was holding him tightly. The voice was vaguely familiar, years of listening to it through the pod. 

Noctis could talk, and walk, but Ignis had given him none of the history of Lucis. He didn’t want to sully his perfect Noctis with those horrid lies.

The king was alive. The king was alive and in his arms.

Ignis taught him everything he needed to know; where to touch him, how to suck him, how to fuck him.

They would spend days in bed, touching and fucking and sleeping.

Noctis didn’t know what they were doing, but he liked the feeling of it. He liked the feel of Ignis’ hand around his cock, of his own dick buried inside the blind man, the taste of Ignis’ seed.

For a while, everything seemed fine. Noctis didn’t know any better, of course.

Noctis didn’t understand why Ignis would be fine one moment, and the next would be screaming at him, telling him he wasn’t right, he wasn’t acting right, he wasn’t him.

At first, Ignis had been able to ignore the baby perfect skin beneath his fingers. The voices in his head grew quieter when he touched his king, when he rolled his king’s balls in his mouth, when he sank into his king’s willing body.

As time passed, Ignis couldn’t ignore the way the skin was too smooth, too perfect. There were no imperfections, no scars.

The whispers grew louder. He wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t Noctis.

Ignis was going to make him perfect.

He ignored Noctis’ sobs as Ignis cut scars into that too perfect flesh. Noctis tried to get away. It didn’t feel right anymore, but there was nowhere to run.

His screams echoed around the room.

Later, much later, after the fever had passed and the wounds were healed, Ignis was gentle and loving with him again.

Ignis ran his fingers over the massive scar on Noctis’ back, running his tongue along it.

It didn’t matter that Noctis couldn’t walk, would never walk again. The scar was perfect.

Noctis didn’t know why Ignis had hurt him, but all he knew was that Ignis was happy again, holding him close and loving him, tongue tracing all those cuts Ignis had pressed into his flesh.

Sometimes, Noctis looked at the barcode on his wrist and wondered what it meant. He never asked Ignis, scared of sending the man who was his entire world into another rage.

Ignis cuddled against Noctis, spent and exhausted, his king’s body covered with his seed.

Years passed, and Ignis fell deeper into madness. They lived in squalor, near starvation half the time.

Ignis never seemed to notice. He had Noctis, and that was all that mattered.

The whispers chittered and chattered in his mind. 

Noctis watched as Ignis started having conversations with the air. Some days, it seemed like Ignis forgot Noctis existed.

Some days, Ignis would tell Noctis of a road trip, and Noctis clung to those stories. 

Was there really a world outside this room? Were there people beyond Ignis?

He wasn’t an idiot. It hadn’t taken him long to put together that he wasn’t like Ignis. He hadn’t been born, he had been made.

It was easy enough to use the computer since Ignis couldn’t see. Ignis hadn’t used the thing since Noctis had come out of the pod.

He found out information about the real Noctis Lucis Caelum. He stared at pictures of the dead king, something twisting in his chest. Was this what he was supposed to look like? There were no mirrors in his world. Ignis didn’t need them, and he had never seen his own face. He stared at pictures of the king with three other people; one blonde and laughing, one huge and tattooed, and the other was Ignis.

A different Ignis. An Ignis not driven to madness by the death of his king.

Noctis found out the names of the other people in the picture. Gladiolus Amicitia and Prompto Argentum. He thought about them as he rode Ignis, trying not to compare the man beneath him to the man in the photos.

They were two completely different people.

From what he had read, Ignis Scientia had been devoted to Noctis Lucis Caelum, had been there for him, no matter what.

One day, many years after emerging from the pod, Noctis came across a post on a message board.

It was asking for any information on Ignis Scientia, who had been missing for years.

Noctis looked at the dirty man curled up on the bed, long hair covering his scarred visage.

He typed out a reply and hit send.

Noctis wheeled his chair back to Ignis and levered himself into the bed. Ignis woke, pulling his king close. He whispered Noctis’ name as he pushed his way into Noctis’ well-used body.

Noctis was silent as Ignis fucked him.

He fell asleep next to Ignis, his mind on the message he’d sent to the poster on that message board.

_Help me._

He wasn’t sure how many days had passed when he heard a voice that wasn’t Ignis’. He was naked, stretched out on the bed while Ignis traced the scar on his back, whispering about his perfect king.

There was a loud crash, and Ignis was up, pulling a dagger from beneath the bed. Noctis levered himself to a sitting position, watching in horrified awe as a door he never knew was there was blown open.

Men rushed in, guns and flashlights sweeping the room. Noctis had to cover his eyes from the blinding light. He had never seen light so bright before. His world was dimness and darkness.

Ignis stood in front of Noctis, naked and filthy and snarling.

Noctis’ eyes trained on the big man in front. That was Gladiolus Amicitia, and the older man beside him was Cor Leonis. The smaller man was Prompto Argentum.

Noctis felt a surge of relief. They had come for him.

Gladio saw Ignis first and he was horrified. What had driven Ignis to live like this? He was naked, dirty, hair hanging limply over his shoulders. He had a dagger in his hand and was standing in front of the bed like he was guarding something.

Cor saw an old clone pod and his heart fell.

“Go away!” Ignis snarled. “He is mine, you can’t have him!”

Gladio had no idea what Ignis was on about.

“Ignis, it’s me, Gladio. Gods, you have to let me get you some help, okay?”

“We don’t need help,” Ignis said. “Noctis and I are happy here.”

Gladio closed his eyes. The king had been dead more than ten years. Gods, had Ignis been living like this for that long?

He saw a flash of movement behind Ignis and took a step sideways.

He nearly hit his knees when he saw those familiar blue eyes looking at him with so much hope. Even though the man’s face was filthy, and his hair was long and matted, skin so pale it was nearly translucent, Gladio recognized that face immediately. 

“Oh gods, Ignis, what have you done?”

“Help me,” Noctis mouthed to Gladio. Gladio’s eyes welled with tears. Prompto saw him, and covered his mouth, silencing his horrified cry.

The whispers were loud, screaming at Ignis that they were going to take his Noctis away.

“You can’t have him!” Ignis shrieked, throwing himself at Gladio. It was so easy for Gladio to throw him to the ground. Ignis barely weighed anything, he was practically skeletal.

He wrapped his arms around Ignis, holding the struggling man easily.

Prompto and Cor moved to the bed, and the man sitting on it.

Gods, he looked just like a young Noctis. His hair was long and matted, and his body was covered in scars.

Noctis lifted his hand towards Prompto, and Prompto started to sob when he saw the barcode on his wrist.

“What have you done, Ignis?” Gladio asked again.

“Don’t touch him, he’s mine! I brought him back!” Ignis cried, struggling fruitlessly in Gladio’s grip.

Prompto took Noctis’ wrist in gentle hands, running his thumb over the barcode. He pulled his wrist band off and Noctis’ eyes widened when he saw Prompto’s barcode.

“Are we brothers?” Noctis asked.

Gladio’s eyes burned with tears. His voice was Noct’s.

“Yes,” Prompto half sobbed, sitting on the dirty bed next to Noctis. “We’re brothers.”

“No!” Ignis howled as the whispers in his mind crescendoed into a scream.

“Can you walk?” Cor asked softly.

Noctis shook his head, overwhelmed by the scents and sounds of so many men around him. He felt safe with these men.

“He…he said I needed a scar on my back to be perfect,” Noctis said.

Prompto covered his mouth in horror. Cor swallowed a wave of rage. Gladio wanted to scream at the man he held down.

“We’ll get you out of here,” Prompto said, still holding Noctis’ hand.

“Is…is the world a pretty place?” Noctis asked quietly.

Prompto found himself crying. “It’s beautiful. You’re going to love it.”

Cor walked over to Ignis and Gladio.

“How could you, Ignis?” Cor asked. “How could you?” How could such a wonderful man do such horrible things? How had he come to this, hiding in the dark recesses of Insomnia with the clone of the greatest king?

“He’s mine! Don’t take him from me! Not again!” Ignis half sobbed, working an arm free of Gladio and reaching towards the bed.

Noctis stared at him, half hiding behind Prompto.

Cor took a deep breath. “Ignis Scientia, you’re under arrest for unlawful imprisonment and torture of a fellow human.”

Ignis howled, breaking free of Gladio through sheer strength of will and lunging for the bed. He shoved Prompto out of the way and wrapped himself around Noctis. He held his king, stroking his hair and pressing kisses into his flesh. 

“Tell them,” Ignis whispered desperately, “tell them how I loved you and cared for you and made you perfect!”

Gladio and Cor dragged Ignis back, restraining him. A couple of well-armed guard members brought in a stretcher, and Ignis was strapped to it, screaming all the while.

Noctis watched as the man who had been his world was taken away. He didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t know anything, anyone, _but_ Ignis. His hands shook.

“What…what’s going to happen to him?” Noctis whispered. Gladio sat on the bed next to him.

“He’ll be taken to a hospital. I doubt…he’s not going to be able to stand trial. He’s…mad. Completely and utterly mad.”

Noctis looked at his hands, clenching his fists to stop the shaking. “And what will happen to me?”

He knew that he wore the face of the dead king, the king who had supposedly saved the world. Would he ever be able to go through the world? Would they let him?

“We take you the Citadel hospital, get you checked out and cleaned up, a real meal,” Cor said, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around Noctis’ shoulders.

“Then you get to live your life, however you want,” Prompto said, wiping his own tears away.

“C’mon,” Gladio said hoarsely. “I’ll carry you.”

They wrapped him in a blanket and Cor put his sunglasses on Noctis’ face. Noctis touched them, fascinated. He had never seen anything like them outside of the pictures he had seen on the computer. Gladio scooped him easily into his arms, carrying him from his world into the real world. Noctis felt Gladio’s tears hit him as they walked, and he stayed silent.

His arms went around Gladio’s neck. Gladio was so much bigger than Ignis, and he smelled different. Noctis clung to Gladio, heart thumping. He felt safe, even going into the unknown.

They walked into the sun.

FFXV

Ignis was locked away, keep pliant with drugs and sedatives. He cried for Noctis, his king, his world.

Eos moved on, and Ignis remained alone, the whispers a reminder of everything he had lost.

They wouldn’t leave him alone.

People came and asked him questions; how had he done it, why had he done it, where had he gotten the DNA of the king?

He never answered, only calling for Noctis.

He begged them to bring Noctis to him. He talked to the air, whispers of Noctis’ voice moving through his mind.

He was alone, alone alone alone, with nothing but the whispers for company.

The whispers sang, and he screamed for Noctis.

FFXV

 

Noctis wheeled his way through the sanitarium. Gladio and Prompto had tried to convince him not to come, but he needed to see. He still had nightmares, years later, of dark rooms and knives…and of gentle touches and words of love and devotion.

Gladio and Prompto were with him, walking silently behind him.

They had received word that Ignis had died. He had spent the night, as all nights, screaming for Noctis, and then he had gone silent. 

When the doctors had checked in the morning, Ignis was dead. He had torn at his wrists until he’d bleed out. He had written Noctis’ name in his own blood, and had finally silenced the whispers.

They were led to the morgue, and Noctis stared at the sheet covered body. The medical examiner pulled it back so they could see his face.

Noctis felt his eyes well with tears. This man had been his world, much as the real Noctis had been Ignis’ world. He existed because of this man and his madness. He reached out a trembling hand and touched the scar over his eye. He yanked a lock of hair from Ignis’ head, holding it in his hands. Gladio and Prompto were silent.

“I hope you find peace, Ignis,” Noctis said quietly, covering his face with the sheet again. He turned his wheelchair and Prompto pushed him from the morgue.

The three men stopped on a bridge, overlooking the water. Noctis stared over the azure water, hands twisting Ignis’ hair on his lap.

“You okay?” Prompto asked.

“Yeah,” Noctis said quietly. “I think I will be.”

Gladio squeezed his shoulder, and they watched the sun set into the waves.

Noctis had meant to throw that lock of hair into the waves, a final farewell, but he couldn’t. He kept it.

The world moved on. Noctis found himself missing Ignis. Even after everything the man had done…he missed him. He had learned about Ignis and the real Noctis’ time together, and he wanted that. He wanted someone who was as devoted to him as Ignis Scientia had been to Noctis Lucis Caelum.

He was friends with Prompto and Gladio, but they had their own lives.

He wanted someone who was devoted solely to him.

One night, many years after Ignis’ death, Noctis stared at the lock of hair, sealed in an airtight container.

He stared and he stared, reaching out a trembling hand to touch the container.

Then the whispers started.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are love! I'd love to know what you think of this.


End file.
